Elias Varn's boots pounded the Underworks' tunnels, the damp air burning his lungs as he ran. The Herald Comes echoed in his skull, a vision's whisper from the Gearheart, its brass weight thumping against his chest. Mara sprinted beside him, her satchel clutched tight, the stolen blueprint inside it a beacon for the enforcers behind them. Her orb flickered faintly at her belt, its runes stirring but too weak to help. Ironhaven's steamheart pulsed beneath their feet, a distant hum drowned by the clank of automatons and the shouts of Council enforcers closing in. The Drowned Gear's chaos had bought them seconds, but the Underworks were a maze, and Elias knew mazes had dead ends.
"Left!" Mara hissed, veering into a side tunnel. Elias followed, his revolver drawn, his grazed arm throbbing with every step. The enforcers' lanterns cast jagged shadows, their voices barking orders. "Varn! Surrender the tinkerer!" one shouted, followed by the screech of an automaton's gears.
"Keep moving," Elias growled, glancing back. Red lenses glowed in the dark, automatons lumbering but relentless, their blades gleaming. The Gearheart warmed, and a vision flashed: a chamber of gears, a crystal pulsing red, Silas's scarred hands crafting it. The Herald Comes, the voice intoned, and Elias stumbled, catching himself on a rusted pipe.
"You alright?" Mara asked, her pistol raised as she scanned the tunnel. Her face was pale, her bandaged arm stiff, but her eyes were fierce, ready to fight.
"Fine," Elias lied, shaking off the vision. The Gearheart's runes glowed through his shirt, and he cursed its timing. Silas's warning—Veyra as the Order's prophet, the Machine God alive and angry—gnawed at him. The blueprint was their only lead to stop the amplifier, but the enforcers weren't just Council grunts. The Order of the Cog was watching, and Veyra's hand was in this chase.
The tunnel split, pipes hissing steam, obscuring the path. Mara pulled her journal from her satchel, its map barely legible in the dim light of Elias's lantern. "This way," she said, pointing right. "Leads to an old smuggler's hatch. If we reach it, we're clear."
"If," Elias muttered, his side aching from the sentinel's cut. The Gearheart pulsed, and another vision hit: Veyra in a cog-crowned mask, her blade dripping blood, chanting, The Herald Comes. Thane's face flashed, his throat slashed, a blueprint burning in his hands. Elias gasped, the tunnel snapping back.
"Varn!" Mara grabbed his arm, pulling him forward. "Focus, or we're dead."
He nodded, shoving the vision down. The enforcers were closer now, their lanterns flooding the tunnel with light. An automaton's blade sparked against a pipe, missing Elias by inches. He fired his revolver, the bullet denting its chest but not slowing it. "Your orb got anything left?" he asked, ducking a steam vent's burst.
Mara shook her head, her orb's glow fading. "Needs a charge. We're on our own." She fired her pistol, a weak blue pulse grazing an automaton's lens, flickering its red glow. The enforcers shouted, their boots echoing louder.
The tunnel narrowed, forcing them single-file. Elias took the lead, his lantern swinging, revealing a rusted hatch ahead—Joren's smuggler route. Hope flared, but the Gearheart burned, and a vision consumed him: the hatch opening, enforcers waiting, Veyra's voice laughing, The cogs turn. He staggered, Mara catching him.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, her pistol covering the rear.
"Trap," Elias rasped, the vision fading. "They're waiting at the hatch."
Mara cursed, glancing back at the approaching lights. "Then we fight through. Got a better plan?"
Elias scanned the tunnel, spotting a side passage, half-collapsed, pipes leaking steam. "There," he said, pointing. "Risky, but it's not on your map. They won't expect it."
Mara hesitated, then nodded. "Lead on, detective."
They dove into the passage, debris scraping their arms. The air was thick, steam scalding, but the enforcers' shouts faded, their lanterns blocked by the collapse. Elias's lantern flickered, barely cutting the haze, and the Gearheart's hum grew louder, syncing with a new sound—a rhythmic clank, like a machine waking.
"What's that?" Mara whispered, her orb flickering brighter, as if responding.
Elias didn't answer, his gut twisting. The passage opened into a cavern, its walls lined with ancient gears, their runes glowing faintly red. At the center, a massive automaton stood dormant, its frame twice the size of the sentinel, its red lenses dark. Runes covered its chest, matching the Gearheart's, and a plaque at its base read: Guardian of the Cogs.
"Great," Mara muttered, her pistol raised. "Another Gearwright toy."
"Don't move," Elias said, his revolver steady. The Gearheart burned, and a vision hit: the guardian waking, its blades spinning, blood pooling at its feet. The Herald Comes, the voice roared, and Elias saw himself, holding the Gearheart, facing the machine alone. He blinked, the cavern back, his heart pounding.
Mara stepped closer, her orb's runes pulsing. "It's tied to the steamheart," she said, eyeing the guardian's runes. "My orb might shut it down, but it's a gamble."
"Gamble later," Elias said, hearing the enforcers' shouts echo from the passage. "We need out."
They skirted the guardian, its silence unnerving. The cavern led to another tunnel, narrower, its walls etched with murals of the Machine God—a cog-crowned figure, hands raised over burning gears. The Gearheart pulsed, and Elias fought another vision, his head screaming. Mara grabbed his hand, her touch grounding him. "Stay with me," she said, her voice soft but firm.
The tunnel ended at a grate, Ironhaven's fog visible through its bars. Elias kicked it open, and they stumbled into an alley, the city's hum greeting them. The enforcers were gone—for now—but the Gearheart's warmth lingered, a reminder of the guardian they'd left behind.
"We can't keep running," Mara said, panting, the blueprint still safe in her satchel. "Veyra's got the Council and the Order. We need to hit back."
Elias nodded, his arm bleeding, his side aching. "Silas," he said. "He knows the chamber. We find him, we find the amplifier."
Mara's eyes flicked to the Gearheart, glowing faintly. "And your visions? They're getting worse."
"They're showing me the truth," Elias said, his voice low. "Thane, Veyra, the Machine God—it's all connected. I'm not stopping now."
Mara studied him, then pulled her journal, marking the cavern's location. "Silas is a ghost," she said. "But Joren might know where he hides. We go back to the warehouse, plan our next move."
Elias agreed, but the Gearheart hummed, and a vision flickered: Silas in a dark room, a blade at his throat, Veyra's voice whispering, The Herald Comes. He pushed it down, leading Mara through the fog. The Underworks were behind them, but the guardian's red eyes haunted him, and the Machine God's pulse grew stronger.
They reached Joren's warehouse, its rusted walls a fragile sanctuary. Joren was waiting, his mechanical eye whirring as he bolted the door. "You two stir up trouble like a busted engine," he said, tossing them bandages. "Enforcers are crawling the Underworks. What'd you do?"
"Found proof," Elias said, helping Mara wrap her arm. He pulled Thane's cog from his pocket, its runes catching the lantern's light. "Veyra's with the Order. They're building an amplifier to wake the steamheart."
Joren's eye clicked, his face grim. "Silas called. He's spooked, says the Order's hunting him. He'll meet you at the Iron Forge, old smelter in the Lower Wards. Midnight."
"Trap?" Mara asked, her pistol on the table, her orb beside it, faintly glowing now.
"Probably," Elias said, his hand on the Gearheart. Another vision hit: the Iron Forge, flames roaring, Silas screaming, a cog-crowned figure watching. The Herald Comes, the voice intoned, and Elias saw himself, bloodied, facing Veyra's blade. He gasped, Joren's den snapping back.
"You're seeing things again," Mara said, her voice low, concerned. "What was it?"
"Silas," Elias said, his throat dry. "He's in danger. We go now, or he's dead."
Joren shook his head. "You're walking into a fight you can't win, Varn."
"Then we win fast," Elias said, standing, his revolver heavy but sure. Mara grabbed her satchel, her orb's runes stirring, as if sensing the fight ahead. The Gearheart burned, its voice clear: The cogs turn. The Herald Comes.
Ironhaven's fog swallowed them as they headed for the Iron Forge, the city's pulse a drumbeat, the Machine God waiting.
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